Episode Report Card Keckler: B | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Mucus of Borg
By Keckler | Season 1 | Episode 22 | Aired on 04.30.2002
Corridor. Reed points out the blooming obvious when he says, "If that thing continues to grow we're going to have to find a way to contain it." T'Pol welcomes any suggestions he might have. "Starfleet's been working on creating a stable EM barrier for the last five years," Reed explains. "A force-field?" T'Pol asks. "Right," Reed goes on, "They just haven't found a way to control the particle density. All the specs are in the database. I've been trying to jerry-rig a prototype of my own." "And?" T'Pol prompts him. Reed says that he's perfected it enough to absorb a phaser blast sixty percent of the time, but the thinks he can improve on that. T'Pol tells him to hop to it.
Bridge. May-Willie-Winkie tells T'Pol he thinks he located the Kreetassans. T'Pol dances around the bridge in a fit of Vulcan glee. Okay, she probably doesn't, but all this lack of actual action is making me a bit delusional. As is that mickey I slipped into my own drink when I was looking the other way. She instructs Mayweather to lay in a course for the Kreetassans, but he's two steps ahead of her -- not only has he already done that, he's started sending out hails even though they're still out of comm range. Some might say that's a waste of electricity and email, but I won't. T'Pol tells him to alert her when they return his call. Mayweather looks studious. Elsewhere on the bridge, Hoshi is grabbing at her head as she looks at frequency distortions. T'Pol asks if she's getting anywhere. "Believe me, you'd be the first to know," Hoshi gripes. Can someone remind Whiny McWhinerson here that she begged her Sub-Commander for this assignment? Hoshi apologizes for her grumpitude and admits that she's frustrated by her spectacular lack of luck. "The situation requires expertise, not luck," T'Pol tells her. "Then maybe I don't have the expertise," Hoshi says. "If you don't, no one else aboard Enterprise does," T'Pol says, a bit sharply. Hoshi tells her she's doing her best, and T'Pol reminds her it was Hoshi's own flapping gums that got her roped into this particular task, so if she doesn't think it's possible to communicate with the Globlin, they'll have to think of something else. Hoshi says, "I've made a little progress but our translation matrix isn't designed for this. Look at it -- it's more like a calculus equation than a language." "Mathematics is sometimes considered a form of language," T'Pol points out. I wait. I listen for signs of stirring from the other room at "calculus" and T'Pol's follow-up line. Shh. Nothing? Okay, good. Hoshi finally tells T'Pol that she needs help from someone with a background in higher mathematics. Well, let's see, Mathra's not doing anything other than wrestling with automorphic forms and L-functions, maybe he -- T'Pol says, "Perhaps I can assist you," and leans over the console. Damn, missed his chance!
Cargo Hold of Mucus Web. "The Texas goalie can't block to his right because he keeps his hands too deep," Trip gasps out. Quantum wants to know how Trip knows that. From below, Rostov says tearfully, "Captain, I know it too and I don't understand anything about water polo!" Heh. Quantum decides the Globlin must be linking them together "somehow." Trip gets stir-crazy, grunting, "We gotta get out," while seeming to flex and push at his bonds of snot. He's stealing Quantum's constipated act. Quantum tells Trip to calm down while the strands tighten around Rostov. "This thing's gotten inside our heads!" Trip bawls. Quantum asks urgently if Trip knows what he's thinking about. "Now's not the time to be thinking about the regionals!" Trip squeals. Quantum says, "Trip!" and shakes his head at him. Trip tries to concentrate and says, "Senior year…North American regionals against Princeton, we -- I mean you, were down by two goals…under a minute left." "And what was I thinking?" Quantum orders. Trip gasps, and Quantum repeats his question. "You thought you could win every game. You always thought you could win, no matter how far behind you were," Trip and I groan. "And we did," Quantum says, managing to sound smug through all that slime. "We went on to the finals that year. As soon as you give up, the game's lost." Trip nods and gasps and nods again at Rostov, who nods back, and then Quantum nods. They're all a bunch of nods. Mathra? Do you think you could come in here and wipe up this Anvil Snot Bomb? It's making the cats puff up.